Faithful
by TheMotherQuill
Summary: When Sandor comes for her during the Battle of The Blackwater, Sansa decides she doesn't want to be a victim anymore. She goes with him, her faithful Hound. Rated M for future chapters.
1. Prologue Shelter

Prologue~ Shelter

_Gentle Mother, font of mercy,_

_save our sons from war, we pray,_

_stay the swords and stay the arrows,_

_let them know a better day._

_Gentle Mother, strength of women,_

_help our daughters through this fray,_

_soothe the wrath and tame the fury,_

_teach us all a kinder way._

Sansa didn't know why she'd done it. She didn't know what made her stand up and decide to live. Perhaps it had something to do with the cloak. He had thrown his cloak at her twice now, once to cover her naked body, and once the night before last, to say goodbye. It was then, huddled under the blood stained white cloak that she'd realized she didn't want to say goodbye to him, she didn't want to see him go.

Moments after that she'd rushed down the corridor as fast as her legs could carry her and she called out to him, using his true name for the first time ever.

"Sandor!" she had cried, stretching her arm and hand out to him. He'd turned, hand on the pommel of his sword, and tears still slowly rolling down his blood-covered cheeks. Without thinking, she'd flung herself at him and he'd caught her.

"We have to hurry," he'd said, not asking about her change of heart. And they had. He'd half-carried, half-dragged her through the castle, pushing her behind him whenever he sensed danger ahead of them. He had cut through countless people, and all the while Sansa had buried her face in her hands or in his chest so she would not see, or would not be seen.

They had reached the stables, but they were already ablaze. Most of the horses had escaped, but a few were still tethered. Stranger was waiting for them, outside of the stables, as proud and angry as ever. Sandor had looked back and forth from the burning stables to Sansa, and had growled. She knew she needed a horse, but he was loathe to go in for one. Bracing herself, Sansa rushed in before he could stop her and she quickly began un-tethering the trapped horses. The flames licked at her hands and face and neck, but she didn't stop until she reached the final horse. She took the reigns and ran from the blaze.

"Are you mad, girl? You could have been hurt!" Sandor had bellowed at her, catapulting her atop the horse with his brute strength. He mounted Stranger and the two fled, through the flames, through the battle, through the dying, and through the gates.

That had been two nights ago.

They had yet to stop for any long period for rest, and Sansa was beginning to think that the Hound didn't need sleep. She did though. And the horses did. Her poor mare was beginning to stumble, and had slowed substantially since their first night of riding. Sansa was so tired and weak she'd taken to leaning on the mare's neck for fear of falling from the saddle.

She must have fallen asleep despite the cold and being in the saddle, because the next thing she knew, Sansa was being lifted off of the horse by large, warm hands that wrapped around her waist. She looked down to see Sandor.

"We've stopped," she said softly, stretching with her arms over her head.

"We've come far enough to escape all of the fighting, and all of the stragglers. It is time to rest now, little bird." he answered, gently placing her back on her feet on the ground. She looked around and saw they were in a very secluded wooded area, with no inn in sight.

"But…there's no inn here." she said, confused. Sandor barked a laugh as he tethered the horses and began to unsaddle them.

"No, girl, there's no inn. We need to stay to the forest for a while, just until we've gotten far enough North." he said, carefully rubbing Stranger down and inspecting his hooves and legs. Sansa stood with her hands clasped in front of her waist, watching everything he did.

"What are we going to do for shelter, and food?" she asked, looking up at the maddening sky. "It looks like rain…"

"Can you do this, girl? Tend your mount, I mean? Were you taught that along with your needle-work and tender words?" Sansa blushed, but nodded. "Good. You see to her then, and I'll see to the shelter." he grumbled, stalking off through the forest to gather up large sticks and branches.

Sansa began to rub down her mare, and for the first time she noticed what a lovely horse she was. Her coat was the color of wheat, and she had soft brown eyes that were weary, but beautiful. She gently massaged the swollen joints of the mare's legs and decided she would call her Maiden. If the Hound could travel with one of the gods, then so could she. Sansa gently brushed Maiden's mane and tail out with her fingers and then checked her hooves, not really knowing what to look for.

When she felt she had sufficiently cared for the horse, she turned to study what Sandor was doing. He had made what looked like a large pile of leaves, and Sansa was dreading to see how it was to shelter them. She reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and gasped, making Sandor turn to her with his hand on his sword.

"What? What is it?" he asked, hurrying to her in a protective stance.

"My _hair_! It's…_burnt_." she said miserably, pulling a mass of burned tendrils off of her head. Sandor looked at her with what she thought was pity, and he sighed, pulling out his dagger—the one he had held to her throat two nights before.

"Come, I'll trim it for you. It will make you less recognizable," he said as means to comfort her. She stood before him with her back to him and he began to gently slice through her gorgeous red locks. As she felt the weight coming off her head, she began to cry. Before she came to King's Landing—what felt like a hundred years ago—her mother used to brush her hair daily, telling her how it was like spun gold reflecting fire. Now, all those beautiful locks were being shorn from her head.

"It's nothing fancy, but it'll do." Sandor said awkwardly. Sansa reached up to run her hands over the new cut, and found that her once-long locks now ended by her chin. She could no longer smell the burnt hair, and was thankful for that, but found the thought of no longer having long, shinning hair rather disheartening. She let a sob escape as Sandor handed her the clippings of her hair.

"It's just hair, girl. It'll grow back," he said, not unkindly. He let his hands rest on her shoulders as he looked down into her teary blue eyes and he bent to meet her height.

"Thank you," Sansa whispered, dropping her head.

"It's just a haircut, little bird, and not a bad one at that."

"No. For rescuing me." she said softly. One moment they were at arms' length, and the next Sansa had crushed herself against Sandor's chest, wrapping her arms around him tightly. He was so broad, and muscled like a bull, that she could barely touch her fingers together. Sandor inhaled sharply, as though he'd been injured, but after a few moments he wrapped his arms around Sansa.

"Come little bird, the rain will start soon." he muttered against the top of her head. For a moment, Sansa felt his lips linger on her newly shortened hair, then his entire body was gone. As Sandor set about finishing their pile of leaves, which he called a debris shelter, Sansa managed to pull the saddle blankets over the saddles so they wouldn't get wet.

"How does this work…exactly?" Sansa asked, looking at their debris shelter.

"We crawl inside and we sleep. It'll be a bit tight, but we'll stay dry and warm enough not to need a fire. Once we have slept, I can do some hunting, but for now let's get some rest." Sandor crawled in first, then Sansa managed to climb inside after him. There was hardly enough room for both of them, but as the rain started, Sansa was amazed to find that there were no leaks.

"Get some sleep, little bird." Sandor said tiredly, his eyes already closed. Sansa looked at him hesitantly, but scooted closer to him and laid her head on his chest. Sandor looked down, surprised, but tucked her into the crook of his arm and held her tightly.

"Goodnight, Sandor." she whispered to him.

He grunted in response.


	2. Chapter 1 Wren

Chapter 1~ Wren

Sandor woke with the sun, and for a moment he didn't remember where he was. He looked down to see the little bird's head on his chest, her arm thrown over his stomach and a leg hiked over his own. She seemed comfortable, content even.

"Wake up, little bird. We need to be on our way." he said, gently shaking her from her slumber. Sansa rolled over and stretched, yawning. She opened her eyes and looked up at Sandor. For a moment, he could see the confusion swim through her eyes, then a pretty blush painted her cheeks and she gave him a tight smile.

"I trust you slept well last night, my…" she abruptly stopped and looked at him awkwardly. "W-what shall I call you? You do not take kindly to being called ser or my lord, and I refuse to call you what _he_ called you."

"You called me Sandor before, when you came after me." he said, crawling forward to exit the little shelter. Sansa scrambled out after him and brushed her dress off. She was shocked at how cold it was outside of their shelter, and wrapped her arms around herself quickly.

"Here, try to move about a bit to warm your body up." Sandor said, moving to the saddles and saddle bag. The saddle blankets had kept everything dry for the night, luckily, and Sansa felt a moment of pride for thinking to cover them.

"I didn't know if you would come with me," Sandor said, and Sansa was amazed at how vulnerable he sounded, "But I packed a few things in case you said yes…" From the bag, Sandor pulled a simple dress of bluish grey wool, a linen under-dress, a pair of boots, a pair of woolen stockings, a dark grey cloak, and a sack of something that looked quite heavy.

"I'll just go break down the shelter while you change." Sandor muttered, handing her the pile of clothes. Sansa offered a smile and decided she would change behind Maiden for extra cover. Sansa gently stripped off her soiled dress and under-dress, leaving her smallclothes on. She dressed quickly in the brisk morning air, donning the warm wool gladly. When she had pulled the stockings and boots on, she looked at the sack and opened it.

"Lemons?" she asked aloud.

"Your hair is too recognizable, even this short. The lemons will lighten it." Sandor said gruffly as he pulled their little shelter apart, tossing the sticks about to make it look as though no one had been there at all.

"Oh. That's very clever." Sansa said as she took a lemon out of the bag. "What do I need to do exactly?"

"Cut it open and pour the juice over your head, make sure to rub it in all over. While we ride in the sun today, it'll lighten up. If you do it every day, soon you'll be as blonde as…" Sandor paused, realizing that to mention the Lannisters would make her uneasy, "The Targaryens."

Sansa knew what he was going to say, and was glad that he didn't say it.

"May I see your knife, Sandor?" she asked. Sandor gently placed his knife in her hand and went to saddle their horses as she sliced the lemon open. She carefully massaged its juice into her hair, enjoying the pleasant smell that reminded her of her favorite lemon cakes. She took a few extra moments to comb her hair out with her long fingers, thinking fondly of her mother.

"You need a name, little bird." Sandor said as he gave Stranger a pat, tightening his bit.

"My name is Sansa," she said incredulously, raising an eyebrow at Sandor.

"No. Sansa Stark needs to be put away for a while. You need to forget about her for the time being, if you want to make it to your family alive. So, pick a name." He looked at her expectantly.

"Catelyn?" she asked nervously, feeling the color rising up to her ears.

"You must be joking girl. With those Tully eyes of yours? Not likely…" Sandor grumbled, scratching his beard. "You like to sing, little bird, what about Wren?" he asked, looking up at the birds flitting through the light that filtered through their trees.

"Wren…I—I think I can remember that. Shall I be Wren…Snow, from the North? Or Wren Waters, from Kings Landing?" she asked, walking over to place her hands on Maiden's neck, gently combing her lovely mane.

"You're to be Wren Clegane, born Wren Smith, daughter of a blacksmith in Lannisport who was _lucky_ enough to be given to the second son of Lord Clegane…" Sandor rasped, tightening the billet strap on Maiden's saddle. Sansa looked at him, her eyes widening slowly.

"I'm to be…your wife?" she squeaked, wringing her hands and blushing.

"Aye, girl. Unless you'd like to be my whore instead, in which case I won't be able to stop other men from leering at you and grabbing you."

"No!" Sansa gasped, gripping his arm tightly. "No, please. I will be your wife, Wren Clegane. I promise, I shall remember." she said softly, looking down at their feet. Sandor sighed and cupped her chin, lifting her face up to look into her eyes.

"I swore to protect you, Sansa. This is the only way I can be sure no one will try to sell you back to the Lannisters, and even this way you won't be safe. My face is too well known, and I am not a well-liked man…" Sansa realized suddenly that he was trying to reassure her, to apologize to her. She put her hand on his and set her face with stony resolve.

"My name is Wren, my sweet, who is this Sansa?" she said softly. Sandor's lips twitched into something like a smirk and he thumped her nose good-naturedly.

"A pretty girl I once knew. Come, we should ride out soon. I want to stay well ahead of anyone coming from Kings Landing. There is a stream a few miles ahead, we can try to fish for our breakfast." he said as he drew his cloak around his shoulders. Sansa looked down at the white cloak he'd simply left on the ground, and she knelt to pick it up.

"M-may I keep this?" she asked hesitantly. He looked down at her with a strange flicker of something shooting through his eyes.

"It's covered in blood, girl, not to mention it'll be like having a target on your back. Just leave it, let the mud burry it."

"Please…you gave it to me, when you thought I was not coming with you. I would keep it, if it please you, husband…" she said softly. Sandor looked at her and grumbled.

"Fine. Wear it beneath your other cloak or every King's-man from here to Harrenhal will be on us."

"Thank you." she whispered, gripping the cloak tightly. She draped it around her shoulders and then pulled the other cloak over top of it, making sure all the white was covered. Sandor helped her into her saddle, though she had already gotten the impression that Maiden wouldn't harm a bug on the ground. With all of their meager possessions packed and the horses saddled, they began their journey out of the forest and onto clearer ground.

They left The Hound and Sansa Stark behind in that forest, and a new Sandor Clegane emerged with his lovely wife, Wren.


	3. Chapter 2 Blood

Chapter 2~ Blood

Ridding all day had left Sansa sore all over, and her mood was dark. Sandor was even sourer than Sansa, the long ride and dark sky doing nothing for his ill temper. They had stopped once so Sandor could fish, but had moved on quickly, eating in their saddles. Sansa had been utterly opposed to eating the fish raw, so Sandor had grudgingly used one of the lemons to cook the fish in the juice. He assured Sansa it was safe to eat, and she found it surprisingly pleasant.

By the time they reached the inn, Sansa was ready to fall off of Maiden. Her thighs were numb, and her buttocks was hot with pain. Even her stomach seemed a huge bruise that faded into her chest and back. When they rode up to the stables Sandor dismounted and reached up to Sansa. When he lifted her up, she gasped in pain.

"What? Did I hurt you?" he asked, backing away from her when he placed her on the ground. Sansa shook her head as she gripped her stomach with one hand and reaching out to him with the other.

"Pain," she gasped, feeling his tunic suddenly under her hand as he stepped forward again.

"Where," he asked darkly, then she heard him curse under his breath. She looked up to her saddle to see the sticky, drying blood all over the seat. She had been so numb and yet in so much pain that she hadn't even noticed the cause. Her moon's blood was on her.

"Damn it," Sandor cursed, "I don't know what to…how to…" he stumbled for the words, but couldn't seem to find them. Finally, he just picked her up and carried her into the inn, much to the shock of the ugly old woman who owned it.

"A room, and a bath. Quick as you can." Sandor barked at the shriveled matron. She scowled at him and at Sansa.

"Can y' pay?" Sandor threw two coins at the wretch.

"There's two dragons. I'll pay for meals as well, but hurry with the damned bath, my wife's in pain." he growled at the woman. She parted her pruned lips and used the few teeth she had left to bite the coins. She nodded and led them up to a room. When she unlocked the door Sandor pushed past her and gently laid Sansa upon the bed.

"I'll just get the bath ready," the woman grunted, waddling out of the room. Sandor sat on the bed beside her and stunned himself by smoothing her hair back from her pretty face. For once, he couldn't stop his body from reacting to her. Most of the time he could grumble the feelings away, but for some reason her vulnerability made him want to comfort her as best as he could. When she leaned into his palm he felt his mouth go dry.

"Can I do anything, little bird?" he asked softly, awkwardly patting her hand as it rested on her lower stomach.

"Heat. I was once told that heat helps." Sansa whimpered, curling into the fetal position. Sandor looked around the room, trying to find anything that would help ease her pain. He looked down at his own hands and began rubbing them together. He placed one of his large, suddenly awkward paws on her stomach and watched her eyes open wide, then slowly close. He gently rubbed circles into her stomach, wondering where the damned bath was.

When the woman finally returned with three equally ugly lads behind her holding buckets of hot water, Sansa was curled up asleep on the bed.

"Leave," Sandor growled when the tub was filled.

"I'll be needing payment for your sup—"

"I said _leave_!" he barked, looming over the shriveled hag. She grumbled at him as she went, but she did leave. Sandor went to the bed and gently shook Sansa's arm.

"Wake up, little bird. Your bath's ready." he said as she rolled over. Sansa nodded dully, but gasped as she sat up. Her simple green dress was now stained brown near her womanhood where her moon's blood had been flowing.

"I've ruined my dress…" she said softly. Sandor lightly gripped her hand and pulled her up from the bed.

"I'll see if the old woman has some lye soap to get the blood out. Can you…take care of yourself?" Sandor asked uncomfortably. Sansa noticed his face redden. She nodded, not wanting to make him any more on edge.

"Fine. I'll wash this, you just get into bed when you're…feeling better."

Sandor made for the door, but Sansa stopped him.

"I…need a cloth…for the blood…to wear in my smallclothes…" Sansa stuttered, reddening with each new word. Sandor too began to turn red, but nodded silently and walked out the door.

When she was alone, Sansa slid from her smallclothes and into the hot water. She rinsed her hair, noting that the strands had lightened since that morning. She used a small clothe to scrub the dried blood from her thighs and the grime from everywhere else. When she finished, the water was a mucky brown color.

Moments after she was dry, a knock sounded on the door.

"Come in," Sansa said after wrapping one of the blankets from the bed around herself. Sandor walked in and froze in the doorway. His eyes shot from her face to her pale, white shoulders. She was beautiful. Even without her jeweled hairnets and fancy gowns, she was still the most beautiful thing Sandor had ever seen.

"Here's your…cloth," he coughed, laying the cloth on the bed. "The hag sent this up for you." he said as he laid a simple shift out on the bed.

"Thank you."

"Are you hungry, little bird?"

"Yes."

"Dress and I'll bring up some supper." Sandor said and left the room. Sansa let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding and she changed into the shift. She put the cloth in her smallclothes and laid down on the bed. Sansa didn't know what was under the sheets, but the bed was very lumpy and not very soft at all. Despite the lumpy, uncomfortable mattress, Sansa found her eyes drifting closed.

Sandor opened the door and found the little bird asleep on the bed, her beautiful rosy lips parted in slumber. Even asleep she was elegant. Her toes pointed as though she were dancing and her delicate little hands rested on her stomach. Sandor looked to the tub and cringed at the sight of the bloody water. He did not like seeing her hurt, ever. He couldn't count the number of times he'd stopped himself from ripping Joffrey's head off, or how often he'd nearly slaughtered Meryn Trant with his own sword.

He didn't understand the way women's bodies worked, but he did know that after their first moon's blood, they could bear children. This was not her first moon's blood, he knew that well enough. Half of King's Landing knew that much. The thought of her trying to burn her room to hide the fact that she'd flowered made him sick, the thought of the little cretin planning to get a son on her made him livid though.

Sandor needed a drink. Badly.

The common area of the Inn was empty save for one of the ugly woman's ugly sons, and Sandor quickly scowled him out of the room. He sat himself far from the fireplace and ordered a flagon of wine. After draining it as easily as some drink water, he ordered a second and third. The second he drained slower than the first, and the third he saved, knowing that if he had to bed down with Sansa in the forest again, he would need it.

When he was well and truly drunk, Sandor stumbled up the stairs to the room Sansa already slept in. He clamored through the door, leaving a trail of curses behind him, and looked at the bed where Sansa Stark lay slumbering. She's rolled onto her side, resting her face on the arm beneath her whilst stretching the other across the bed.

_She's reaching for you,_ a voice in Sandor's mind said. He snorted at the thought, not knowing where it came from, and he stripped down to his breeches. He tugged one of the blankets from the bed and collapsed on the floor with a grunt.

Sandor quickly sank into the wine-laced sleep he was so used to, but something made him awaken. Something drew him from his slumber, but he could not put his finger on it. When he opened his eyes, it took him long moments before he remembered where he was, and who he was with. That's when he heard the sound of steel scraping a scabbard. Even in his drunken state he had his sword out in seconds and threw himself in front of the little bird.

But when his eyes adjusted, he saw that she was not in her bed, but already in the arms of the intruder. Her innocent blue eyes were wide with terror and the man's hand covered her mouth.

"Take another step and she loses an arm. The King don't want her dead, but he didn't say anything about how many pieces she be in." Sandor recognized the intruder as one of the ugly lads that had brought in the bath water. He also realized he was not alone. The other ugly lad stood in the doorway holding a knife.

"Go Petyr! I can handle the drunken dog." the lad with the knife said. Slowly, Sandor's mouth twisted into a sickening smile. They thought he wouldn't be able to take them. They thought he was far drunker than he really was. They…were wrong.

One moment Sandor was just standing there, the next, he had his sword through the throat of the man holding Sansa. As he gurgled and sputtered his last seconds of life away, Sansa pushed him back, far from her, and rushed into Sandor's chest. He wrapped his sword-free arm around her and raised his sword at the other boy.

"Ready to handle the _drunken dog_ now, boy?" Sandor growled, holding Sansa tightly. The boy's ugly face was contorted in horror as he stared down at his dead brother.

"P-Petyr?"

"Is dead. Unless you want to join him, step aside." Sandor snarled. The boy started shaking, and glared at Sandor. _Don't do it, boy._ The boy screamed and rushed him. Sandor protectively tucked Sansa into chest as his sword met the boy's stomach. The sickening sound of a body being impaled on a blade filled the air and Sansa clutched Sandor's tunic.

Sandor pulled his sword from the dead boy's body and let it fall to the floor with a clatter. He turned Sansa to look at him and cupped her face.

"Are you alright, little bird?" he asked her softly, looking her face over. She gripped his wrists and nodded, then ducked into his chest again, shaking her head and gripping his tunic.

"He said he would break me in before giving me to Joffrey. He said…he said he'd kill you and make me watch while they burned the rest of your body." Sansa stuttered quickly into his chest. Sandor felt hot wet tears staining his tunic and he wrapped his arms around the girl tightly.

"I swore to protect you. I will never let anything happen to you. You will never have to go back to that monster, I swear it Sansa." he whispered to her. His walls were down due to the wine, he realized that much as the words came spilling out of his mouth. But he surprised himself with how drunk he was when he felt his lips brush hers. Before he could make himself pull back though, Sansa melted into his arms. She was not pushing him away.

"Murderer!" shrieked a voice. Sandor broke away and went to raise his sword, finding he'd dropped it. He cursed and grabbed it, but the ugly hag went for Sansa. Before he could part her head from her massive body, the woman managed to crack Sansa in the head with glass flagon. The glass shattered and the red wine within exploded all over the girl, just as her own blood began to seep from her temple.

Sandor roared in anger and mercilessly slaughtered the ugly wretch. By the time he sheathed his sword, his was the only blood not painting the floor with a gruesome tale.


	4. Chapter 3 Gone

**A/N:** Terribly sorry for the long wait with that cliff hanger. I will give this in the way of excuses: my toddler just got his first ear infection. So...yeah... Anyways, I want to give credit to my lovely beta from the lj community I'm part of (sansaxsandor), girloficenfire. On here though, her name is girloficeandfire, and if you're interested in some amazing SanSan fics, go read hers! Love!

Chapter 3~ Gone

She opened her eyes slowly, finding that her lids weighed far too much. She reached up to wipe them and found her arms heavy, asleep themselves. When her hands finally reached her face, she felt a thick, sticky mess covering the right side of her forehead. She groaned and tried to sit up, but a large hand stopped her easily.

"Slow down, little bird. Here, let me help you." a male voice said softly. She felt a large hand on the small of her back, and the man helped her to sit up.

"I…what happened?" she asked groggily, trying to make her vision focus.

"You were hit in the head. How many fingers am I holding up?" She looked in front of her to see three massive fingers on an equally massive hand.

"Three," she groaned, rubbing her forehead. The man grunted in response and gently pushed her hair out of her face. She turned to him to see a mass of black locks hanging in his face.

"A-are you the maester?" she asked. The man barked a laugh.

"Aye, that's why there's still blood all over your pretty face. No, there's no maester in the forest, little bird. You'll have to do with me until we can find one, or find a wood's witch in place of one."

"I-if you're not the maester…then who are you?" she asked, trying to scoot as far away from him as she could. She could not see his face, but somehow she knew he was scowling.

"Don't be daft, girl. That isn't funny."

"I…please, ser, I don't mean to offend, but…I do not know you." she said timidly, trying to gain focus of her surroundings. She needed to run, to flee. She had to get away from this angry man. _But he's caring for you. He called you little bird. _

"Look at me, girl," the man rasped, and when she did not obey he roared, "Look at me!" He grabbed her chin roughly and forced her to look at him. His face was a frenzied mess of scars and torment, the right side almost as fear-invoking as the left. His cheekbones were sharp, his nose too, like a well-honed sword. Even his eyes were the cool grey of steel, a sharp face with an even sharper gaze. The left side of his face was a mass of reddened burn scars, his lips melting into a permanent sneer.

His eyes were hooded with a black brow, and his black hair was swept over to the left side, trying to hide the gnarled ruin of his face. There was something in his eyes, some emotion hidden in the grey depths. It pained her to look into those eyes, so she turned her head away and squeezed her eyes shut against the sight.

"I—I am sorry, ser…I do not recognize you…" she whispered.

"I'm no ser," his voice was strained, as though he was keeping himself from yelling at her.

"Please, I—where am I? H-how did I come to be injured? W-w—" she paused and wetted her lips, steeling herself, "Who am I?"

Sandor stared down at Sansa with disbelief. He had let himself believe that everything would be okay. He had slipped up and kissed her, and she hadn't pulled away. The old hag had seen to it that the single most perfect moment in his life had been ruined, though. Now, Sansa couldn't even remember him. Hells, Sansa couldn't even remember Sansa.

_She doesn't remember Sansa, he thought suddenly. She doesn't remember being a proper lady. She doesn't remember we're running..._

And then he had a revelation.

_She doesn't remember the Hound._

Sandor clenched his fingers into a fist and in one fluid movement, he was across the little clearing they were sheltering in.

"I…You…Seven sheep buggering hells!" he roared and kicked over a massive fallen log. Sansa cringed, shrinking back noticeably. At least in this state she wasn't so intent on hiding her fear and feelings. _She doesn't remember the Hound…_he thought again.

"I am sorry, little bird…" he rasped, shoulders tight as a virgin's cunt. He ran a hand through his dirty black hair and exhaled loudly.

"Please, ser—um…my lord…can you tell me who I am?" Sansa asked pitifully. She was shaking with fear, her beautiful eyes rimmed red as though she was desperate not to cry.

"I am no ser, no lord. I'm the second son of an upstart house. I've no lands, no titles, no loyalties to any kings," he groaned, staring at her. _Just do it. It will be better to hide Sansa Stark when he doesn't even remember herself… _

"All I have is my wife, and she does not remember who I am now." His mouth spilled the words before he could stop it. Sansa's eyes grew wide and her mouth fell open, though she had the grace to cover it with one of her delicate, long-fingered hands.

"I…I am your wife?" she whispered. Sandor just nodded and fumbled with his hands, not sure what to do next or say.

"Y-you called me little bird…" she said, saving him from continuing the conversation.

"Aye. Your name is Wren, Wren Clegane. Before we wed, you were Wren Smith, the daughter of the blacksmith at Clegane Keep," and suddenly, Sandor heard the lie in his head and began spewing it into the clearing, "Your father saved my father's life once, and the only boon he asked was a good marriage for his only child. My brother would inherit the Keep, so you got the scarred son instead."

Sansa stared up at him, looking at him with a steady, blue gaze. She studied him closely, looking over every inch of him, her gaze burning him more than that fucking brazier ever had.

"What is your name…please?"

"Sandor, my name is Sandor." he answered, finding a softness in his voice he'd never heard before. Sansa slowly pushed herself up and tried to stand. As soon as she was vertical though, she stumbled forward. Sandor crossed to her in seconds and had her in his arms so she would not fall.

"Thank you…husband…" she said, tasting the word on her tongue.

"You usually just call me Sandor…" he said softly. He righted her and looked at the gash on her forehead. "Does that hurt badly?" he asked. His hand reached up without his permission and cupped Sansa's cheek. She shut her eyes tightly, and Sandor knew she was forcing herself to remain still and not turn away. He quickly pulled his hand away, as though burned, and drew away from her.

"I'm sorry," he rasped quietly. He reached for the wine skin and uncorked it, ready to pour the contents down his throat, but something stopped him. The Hound would get drunk, the Hound would get angry and mean and silent. You are no longer the Hound, as she is no longer Sansa.

"Here, Wren. Sit so I can clean your wound." he said, pouring some wine onto a torn cloth. She hesitantly sat between his legs, facing him, and closed her eyes as he began to gentle the dried blood away from her pale forehead. The gash was broad and deep, starting in her hair and spindling down over her right temple and onto her forehead. As he gently cleaned the dried blood away, bruises bloomed like lilacs across her milky skin.

"I know a bit about wounds, and will try to help as best as I can before we find a maester or a woods witch. Even so, it may scar."

"H-how did it happen?" Sansa asked softly.

"We were fleeing King's Landing. War's broken out between King Joffrey's forces and those of King Stannis. A low branch caught you and knocked you off your horse."

"Fleeing? Surely the Keep would be the safest place during battle?"

"Not for me, not for you."

"Oh," was all she said. She chewed on her lip as he finally finished cleaning her head. Sandor sighed, not knowing how to explain why either of them had to leave King's Landing, or why Wren Clegane would even be at court since she was so young and the Kinsguard took no wives.

"I was the King's shield, before we married, and he is a greedy, demonic child who was never told 'no' by anyone. He liked taking things that did not belong to him…and you happened to interest him far more than a man's wife should interest another man," Sansa gasped lightly.

"There was a girl he was to marry, from the North, but she realized his cruelty when he killed her father, and she escaped. You both had red hair, and for Joffrey that was enough. He would have raped you and asked me to thank him for the honor he did me. I won't have it. No one will touch you, or I'll kill them with my bare hands." he grumbled.

Sandor forced himself to calm down, and jumped slightly when he felt Sansa's small hand cover his.

"I…I can't remember you…Sandor…but you clearly care for me. I feel…safe…" she said hesitantly. Sandor opened his mouth to answer with a snarky comment, but something stopped him. _She doesn't remember the Hound._

"You are my wife…Wren. It is for me to keep you safe." he said softly. Sansa leaned in to him and for one glimmering moment he thought she was going to kiss him. Instead, she placed her small hand on his unscarred cheek. Sandor used every ounce of his self control to not scorn her and push her away.

_She doesn't remember the Hound._

_But you do…_


	5. Apology

Dear amazing people following me, I am sorry I am such a horrible human being and haven't updated in *looks at last updated date and cringes* a VERY long time. I've been putting this posting off for a bit because I'm just, well, I wasn't ready to give up yet. The truth is that I forgot about this story. I have a life outside of writing, and since I'm not a mother, I can't really put that life on hold anymore to finish a paragraph or a chapter whenever I please. I hate that this story has so many people wanting more, and that I just can't give it to you at this point. I don't want to delete it, but I also don't just want to leave this on hiatus because I know I'll hardly ever get time to write anything else with all the other work I had, plus a toddler.

So, my question dear readers, is would one of you like to take up the torch? I know where I wanted the story to go. I even plotted it all out in a nice, prim, proper outline. I just can't seem to get from A to B when it comes to actually sitting down to write. If one of you think you're up to the challenge, then so am I. If you want to use my outline, go for it, if you don't, well, I don't think I really deserve a say in what you do now anyway.

So, if you think you can do this story the justice it deserves, if you have any ideas for how to continue the story, or if you just want to take a crack at it, please let me know either through the comments or through a private message. I'd really appreciate a look at your other work though, before I choose.

I apologize for getting you hooked and leaving you hanging. It's a horrible feeling, I know. But if you'd like this story to continue, I'm afraid someone else will need to see it done.

-TheMotherQuill a.k.a. Miller


	6. Hello Again

Hello again readers, it's TheMotherQuill here. I'd like to tell you that Faithful has been taken over! Yay! You get more to read soon! The lovely and obliging CharlotteBlackwood is taking the story over, and will be posting a link up soon probably. This link will stay here however, so that if wayward fans stumble onto this but haven't yet found it on Charlotte's page, they can find it.

So here's her profile link you lovely people:

u/2753064/


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